


The World Is In Greyscale and I'm The Artist

by putyournamehere



Series: Let it Rain, We Can Build a Home [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Psychosis, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4550223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putyournamehere/pseuds/putyournamehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He did what he needed to do to stay alive and that was that. Even if he had to suffer heatstroke under his sweater and scrub blood off of the sink, he would do it. Because he yearned for colour in his world, even if that colour was red. </p><p>Or: Iwaizumi's coping tactics aren't the best, but they did their job</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Is In Greyscale and I'm The Artist

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Description of self harm and psychosis, please be careful
> 
> Ah, I think these stories are just my own coping method now. I've decided that in this series Iwaizumi has depression and an unspecified psychotic illness. Song for this fic: Control by Halsey

It came over Iwaizumi in small trickles – a plain grey emotion, like apathy, that seemed to consume him. It wasn’t like the intense sadness and lows that he was used to with depression, but it was simply…grey. Bleak. There was nothing wrong, yet there was nothing right. Nothing he did, the reckless way he threw himself into parties and bars, the hour after hour of studying just for something to do, none of it made him  _feel_ anymore. The most he felt was a severe irritation towards everything, but that was it. Grey. It was just grey, and he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be any different.

The pain was something else though. He dragged the razor across his arm and god it was  _something._ After so long of feeling nothing, suddenly there was this sharp pain that leaked from his arm and he felt alive again. It wasn’t the good, happy-to-be-alive, but it was something and he breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t the best route to go, of course. He knew that if anyone found out it would be Hell on his plate. But the feeling was addicting and he added scar after scar as the weeks went by before his finals. Having that bit of release helped him concentrate, but it also put him on edge. As the scars rose in number, he had to wear long sleeves and sweaters in the middle of spring and he was getting more than his fair share of questions and stares from his classmates.

And then there was Oikawa. He knew something was wrong, as dozy and sweet as he liked to act with his many admirers, Iwaizumi knew he was sharp beyond measure. He wouldn’t be able to hide his coping tactics from him for long, not now that Oikawa kept such a keen eye on him. Ever since that episode with the pills, everyone has been carefully treading around him, treating him like a broken vase. It was annoying, angering even, but he found he no longer cared. He did what he needed to do to stay alive and that was that. Even if he had to suffer heatstroke under his sweater and scrub blood off of the sink, he would do it.

It wasn’t as if he was new to this. He spent years putting bruises and scrapes on himself, but they were passed off as volleyball injuries and nobody glanced twice. Now, as he played volleyball less and was forced to focus on his medical studies, the pain took a different form, one that people would question.

Iwaizumi washed the blood down the sink glancing up at the shadows dancing by the door. Sugawara wouldn’t be home tonight, but he was almost certain that Oikawa would visit him. It was like clockwork ever Friday now, and he was grateful for the company (for the reminder that he wasn’t alone; that he wasn’t forgotten), but Oikawa’s patience only extended so far, and Iwaizumi wasn’t going to talk about it, than Oikawa would.

Still, he went around his usual routine. Clean the wounds, clean the sink, patch himself up and clean the blade. Shoo away the shadows, drown out the murmuring with music, and study until he fell asleep on his work or until the sun rose. It wasn’t like he was able to get much sleep anyway, not with the murmuring that still went on in his head. They had diminished slightly, but he still slept fitfully with them there and he found he’d rather not sleep at all.

It was on his second essay that he heard the door go, and he realised six hours had past, the clock showing 22:36. The throbbing in his arm had dulled somewhat, but the sweater was scratchy against his skin – it was both irritating and grounding.

He buzzed Oikawa in (who else would it be? Who else was willing to see him so late into the night? Despite the grey world, Oikawa would always been in colour). He opened the door for him, and it wasn’t long before Oikawa came bounding up the stairs.

“Iwa-chan! I bought ingredients you need for dinner.”

Iwaizumi scoffed and turned to talk to the kitchen. “Make it yourself, dumbass.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to cook since I gave myself food poisoning.”

"Hm. Touché. Give it here."

He reached out to take the bags and started making the meal. No matter how he felt, Oikawa always seemed to know. He knew how people had called them 'perfectly in sync', but it felt as if Oikawa was simply reading his mind for every fear, secret and emotion he'd ever felt. Right now, he could feel his critical gaze on his back.

"What is it? Trashykawa."

"Rude, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa hummed, but didn't stop staring. "You've lost weight."

Iwaizumi shrugged. "I'm studying more than I do sport. Not everyone can do volleyball 24/7 like you."

"Ah, so your team isn't even going to put up a fight against mine? Shame."

"In your dreams, dumbass."

Oikawa laughed but silenced quickly. "That's not what I meant though."

Iwaizumi shook his head, turning on the gas. "I just lost some weight, it's not that big of a deal."

Oikawa left him alone for a grand total of five minutes before he felt arms sneak round his waist. Iwaizumi still wasn't used to this, used to the intimacy that he and Oikawa had now developed. It felt...pleasant (he wished it wasn't so dark in his world, wished he could fully feel as his heart jumped in his chest and the smell of lavender in Oikawa's hair. But he couldn't. He felt empty). 

"Iwa-chan, you know you need to look after yourself," Oikawa nuzzled his face into Iwaizumi's neck, "or I'll have to come here every day to feed you."

Iwaizumi snorted. "Right. You'd come half an hour every day just to make sure I'm eating... actually, never mind, you would do that."

He felt Oikawa grin and squeeze him tighter. "Of course I would!" 

He shifted the ingredients in the pan before feeling Oikawa reach out and touch his wrist, and he couldn't stop himself flinching. 

"What are you doing?"

He knew what was coming, even before Oikawa brushed to end of his sweater away from his wrist, showing several scars criss-crossing. He held his breath as he waited for the reaction, but Oikawa only squeezed his waist tighter.

"You need to roll your sleeves up, or you'll catch fire Iwa-chan." He said softly. 

"I'm not going to catch fire, idiot." But he let Oikawa pull his sleeves up anyway. The silence felt stifling as Oikawa rested his head on Iwaizumi's shoulder, rubbing gentle circles into his stomach. He wanted to know what Oikawa was going to say, wanted to get it over and done with, but Oikawa said nothing as Iwaizumi finished cooking the meal. 

The quietness extended to when they were sat at the kitchen counter, almost having finished dinner. 

"So."

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to say, get it over with dumbass."

"Iwa-chan! I was trying to be gentle!"

"You, gentle? Impossible."

"Mean!" Oikawa pouted, but he sobered up quickly. He played with what was left of his food, the silence hanging heavy between them. "Why didn't you tell me?" was the first thing he said.

"Why would I?" 

Oikawa frowned. "Because you're _hurting_ yourself, Hajime. It's not healthy-"

"You don't think I already know that?" Iwaizumi glared, clenching his fists. "Of course it's not healthy, but what do you expect me to do?"

"You said you would tell me when things like this happened." Oikawa muttered.

"It's not exactly as easy as it sounds, Oikawa."

Oikawa dropped his food stood abruptly. "How do you expect us to help you if you don't even tell us that something's wrong?"

Iwaizumi growled and match Oikawa's stature. "I didn't ask for help," he gritted out, "I was forced into it. I never wanted this."

"So what, you're throwing away your chance of getting better?"

"That's not what I said!" Iwaizumi grabbed his hair in frustration. "I cope in the only way I know how to, if you've got a better idea other than to scorn it I'm happy to hear it!"

"That's not-" Oikawa took a deep breath, "I'm not belittling how you cope."

"Really, because that's sure as hell what it sounded like." 

"Will you just listen to me!?" Oikawa shouted, and watched Iwaizumi flinch before lowering his tone. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to hear you patronise me Oikawa, for god's sake." Iwaizumi started towards his room. "You know what, maybe you should just show yourself out."

"Hajime-"

"Just leave me the hell alone!" And with that he slammed the door behind him. 

For a second, he felt nothing, before everything that had happened, past and present, all of it hit him.

And he sobbed. Open and raw, he sobbed into his hands until his throat was scratchy and his eyes burned.  For a single moment, all the shadows and the voices and the world which dealt such pain, all of them stood back in silence and watched as he finally collapsed in on himself, and let the four empty walls hear his shouts and cries at the pain of it all, the hopelessness of it - the hopelessness of him. For the first time in many years, he prayed, and he prayed, and he prayed for release. For an ending.

Iwaizumi never acknowledged the arms that wrapped around him, he just gripped on tightly and tried to ground himself once more.  He clung on to the sweet whispered nothings in his ear, the familiar smell of post-work out sweat and lavender, until eventually his breaths became silent and gasping and the tears stopped running. A hand gently ran over his jaw, and he was kissed on his forehead, his cheeks, each eye, as gentle as could be. 

It was another half an hour before Oikawa made any move, allowing Iwaizumi to clean himself up. They didn't talk about it; there was nothing Oikawa could say to mae it better after all, so he used gentle touches and soft gestures to show him  _I'm still here, I love you and it's going to be alright_.

They fell asleep like that, in Iwaizumi's bed side by side. They'd have to talk about it in the morning of course, but Iwaizumi was already drained of energy and Oikawa's arms were warm and homely, and that was enough - he was enough.

 

x

In the morning he woke up to the smell of burning and Oikawa swearing from the kitchen. Blearily he hauled himself up, still in the clothes from the night before, and stumbled into the small kitchen area where Oikawa was busy fanning smoke away from the smoke detector.

"What are you doing, Trashy-kawa?"

Oikawa turned to him and grinned. "Breakfast!"

"You know you're not allowed in the kitchen, dumbass." Iwaizumi walked to the oven and peered down at the blackened mess in the pan.

"I wanted to surprise you, because I'm nice like that."

"You? Nice? Impossible." But Iwaizumi smiled at the sentiment, moving to fix Oikawa's work. "Get down from there, you can help me make something."

They made the pancakes, making more mess then before (but Iwaizumi enjoyed the sense of domesticity, the way his heart sped up just that little bit more).  They laughed, a feeling of lightness bubbling inside of them and the events of the night before left forgotten. They both ended up covered in flour, failing to flip pancakes and losing tickle fights. In the end they sat on the floor, finally having finished their pancakes, Iwaizumi leaning into Oikawa's embrace as they finally settled down. It took a moment before Iwaizumi noticed Oikawa gently rubbing his wrists, and he tensed for impact.

"Oikawa-"

"I'm sorry." Iwaizumi blinked as Oikawa continued, "For last night I mean. I'm sorry." He buried his face in Iwaizumi's neck. "You know how you feel better than I do."

Iwaizumi huffed, once again relaxing into Oikawa's arms. "It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, but I get it. And I should be sorry too." He drew patterns on the back of Oikawa's hand, watching the morning light cast shapes and shadows on them (how beautiful must Oikawa look in the light, was all he really wanted to think about). "Tooru, you know I love you." It was a statement barely breaching a whisper, but Oikawa replied anyway.

"Of course."

"And I know you love me. And I know you only ever try to help, even when it's not easy for either of us." He sighed, threading his fingers through Oikawa's. "Just give me time, okay? I promise, I just need time." It was true; he would tell someone eventually, probably soon now that Oikawa knew. He didn't want to hurt Oikawa any more than he had to - hell,  _he_ didn't want to hurt anymore. But he needed time, need the space to finally put the blade down. He needed to find other ways to leak colour into his world, and he would find them somehow. Just not right now.

Oikawa squeezed him gently. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, Iwa-chan. I'll try my best for you."

It was a promise unspoken between them, but still just as strong. The next week Iwaizumi would go to therapy with Oikawa at his side, and with his strength maybe he'd be able to come clean. It wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible and it was more hope than he'd felt in a long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to end this on a more hopeful, definite note. Unfortunately coming clean about self-harm doesn't always go alright ya know, but I wanted a bit of happiness in the end :D I've been through all of this, so if you need anyone to talk to about anything you can find me at metaphorical-pie (tumblr) or metaphoricloud (twitter). Stay safe!


End file.
